Negotiations
by AJzkitten69
Summary: Cordelia deals with her own death, with the help of Doyle, only to discover that the Powers wish to send her back in order to avoid the horrible things coming to people she loves. Doyle/Cordy
1. Chapter 1

Title: Negotiations (1/?)  
Pairing(s): Eventually Doyle/Cordelia, references to Angel/Cordelia, and probably more.  
Summary: First, Cordelia deals with Doyle's death, post "Hero." Then, years later, Angel deals with hers. Then the Powers step in at the last possible moment.  
Spoilers: Whole series.  
Warnings: None  
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Angel or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This is just something that popped into my head after watching "Hero," for the first time in years. Seriously, I haven't watched it since before Glenn Quinn died. So after I stopped crying, I typed this out. If you'd like to see where it goes, leave a review.

Negotiations

There were very few secrets Cordelia Chase actually took to her grave, but she doubted that a single one of them would have surprised those that had been closest to her. The love she had felt for Angel in her last few years, even though she'd never revealed it (but she thinks Jasmine might have), was obvious. Every person in her life had known about it before she had. So no, that wouldn't have surprised a single one of them.

What she'd felt for Doyle probably wouldn't have either, though it was only Angel who ever had an inkling. Wesley saw her mourning, true, even helped her through it, in his way, but he couldn't have sensed the extent of her feelings, having never met the half demon himself.

She thinks that maybe one of the ways she dealt with his passing would have surprised them. It wasn't uncommon, maybe, but…well, it wasn't like she wasted good clothing often. Another thing she never told anyone, a week after Doyle's death, she burned the clothes she'd been wearing when he died. It wasn't out of anger, for the visions he'd _gifted_ her with. And it wasn't because, every time she looked at that outfit, all she could see was the blindingly bright light that had stolen her friend from her. It was simply because she missed the feeling of his lips on hers, and the idea of wearing that outfit again felt like moving on. So she made sure she wouldn't.

She didn't burn them right away though. She took her time with it. Doyle's scent was still on those clothes, after all, and she needed to memorize it before it had a chance to fade. Or before she poured gasoline all over it and set a match to it. So the day before the fire, she sat in his apartment, with her clothes, and simply took what was left of him in. He smelled like whiskey, mostly. But she also thought she smelled coffee, and maybe a hint of the redwood forest her parents had taken her to when she was little, before they decided she was too delicate for camping. If they only knew.

On her way out, she stole one of his shirts. That would have surprised them for sure. After all, she didn't usually make a habit out of petty larceny. But she knew that, as soon as she managed to tell Harry that Doyle was dead, she'd be by to pack up his stuff, and send it to wherever dead people's things went. Maybe she'd donate it all; maybe she'd sell it. Maybe she'd send it off to storage. No matter what she did it with it, it all ended up the same: Cordy would never get the chance to touch any of it again. So she figured it was a better idea to steal it now than regret it later. After all, Harry would never miss it. It was just a shirt. Well, it was just two shirts. One, a dark green button up, she took to keep, and to protect. The other, a light blue flannel, she ended up sleeping in nearly every night for two years, until it was long past worn. But she could still have sworn that it smelled like him.

She knew that was probably just her imagination. Some part of her brain making up phantom scents. After all, she'd worn it hundreds of times, and it had been through the laundry more than she could count. So, logically, the smell had to be gone. But when it came to Doyle, logic tended to fly out the window and down the street. So she allowed herself to think it still smelled like him.

Before Harry arrived to clean out the apartment, and after she'd set fire to her own clothing, she'd gone back and taken his brown jacket. But that was the last of it. And then everything was gone. As if he'd never existed.

She went back one more time, when the place was empty. She'd posed as a possible tenant, and asked to be left alone to bond with the space. It got her five minutes, during which she decided that death really wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing would be to be Angel. To live forever while everyone he loved died around him. The idea that, one day, he might be doing the same thing for her as she was doing for Doyle brought her to tears. Her face was already sore from all the crying she'd done in the two weeks since Doyle's death, but she couldn't stop herself. She sat on the miraculously clean floor of the horribly empty and lifeless apartment and cried for the friend she'd lost, for how he could have been so much more, and for what it would be like for Angel when she inevitably passed and he didn't.

When the real estate agent came back and found her in tears, he assumed he hadn't made the sale.

* * *

Angel used his key and slipped quietly into Cordelia's apartment. He'd kept up the payments when she'd fallen into a coma, but now that she was gone, he wasn't sure what to do. As much as he wished it otherwise, she wouldn't be coming back.

There was no dust. Everything was perfectly clean, which told him, without a doubt, that Dennis was still around. He felt a pang of guilt. Had anyone told him about Cordelia? About her possession, her coma, or her death? Had he just instinctively known? Or was he still in the dark?

He felt more sympathy than he could have anticipated for the ghost. To be dead and trapped for all those years, and then to end up forming a bond with a life force so vivacious as Cordy, only to have her leave him alone again? He must be so lonely. Angel knew the feeling.

He walked into the bedroom and turned on the light, casting his eyes toward the whiteboard she'd put up specifically so Dennis could respond when she talked to him. He wondered when the last time it had been used was. Cordy had stayed mostly at the hotel or with Connor while she had amnesia, and he really doubted Jasmine, while she was still in Cordy's body, had been all that talkative with the phantom. Angel was sure that, if she had, Dennis would have seen through the act in a way that none of the rest of them did.

Being surrounded by her things was intoxicating. He really wasn't sure what he could do with all of it. He'd given away her clothes once before, and he wasn't sure he could do it again. Especially not now, when buying her new ones wouldn't do him any good. Still, he wasn't sure why, but it was her closet he was drawn to first.

And as soon as he opened the door, he knew why. Doyle's jacket hung on one hanger, and a green shirt he vividly remembered his old friend wearing, on the hanger next to it. He wasn't sure how long he stared at it in shock, but the feeling of the ghost's presence pulled his eyes back toward the whiteboard.

'_There's another shirt of his in the dresser. She slept in it until it got too worn out, but she still kept it anyway,'_ Dennis wrote.

Angel nodded, finally understanding why, weeks after Doyle's death, he still smelled him, very faintly, whenever Cordy entered the room. He'd thought he was going crazy at the time. "How much do you know?" he asked. "About what happened to her?"

'_More than you, probably.'_

"So you know she's…gone?" He couldn't bring himself to say 'dead.' Even when he had explained it to the rest of the team, he managed to get through his entire speech without any mention of 'dead.' Luckily, they hadn't asked too many questions. They'd simply joined him in mourning.

The board erased itself before the marker lifted again and wrote out, _'I felt her go.'_

He wasn't sure what to say. He wasn't sure if there was anything _to _say. After all, a woman they'd both loved had just died. There wasn't a lot that could be said without sounding trite. Just when he was about to sputter out something in the place of the overbearing silence, the marker wrote again.

'_Don't worry. All hope isn't lost quite yet.'_

The brightest source of light in his universe was dead. The person who made him feel more alive than any other because of how full of life she was, who had fought and died for his cause, had been violated by a higher power who was supposed to help her. Now he was working for the bad guys and feeling very much without guidance, despite how nicely she'd set him back on the right path. If there was hope anywhere to be seen, he'd sure like to know about it. "What do you mean?"

'_Negotiations are in progress.'_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long, guys. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this one. I have a few ideas about it, but I'm not sure which to use quite yet. Anyway, I hope you'll stick around for me to figure out which direction I'd like to take. And I hope you continue to enjoy this.

Negotiations

Chapter Two

There was no transition period. One moment, she's saying 'You're welcome,' which was really 'Goodbye,' to Angel, and the next, she's very alone in a white room.

"This is Heaven?" Cordelia Chase asked aloud, trusting that someone could hear her. "Really? A white room with no windows and no doors? You'd think that'd be more like purgatory. But frankly, if I haven't made up for the sins of my past yet, then you guys should _really _lighten up the system. I mean, hello, champion of good here! Don't I at least get a _little _welcoming party?"

"That would be me, princess," a very Irish voice said behind her.

She spun around to take him in. She still didn't see any doors or windows, so she had to assume he'd materialized. "Doyle!" She rushed to hug him, and he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could.

After a minute, they broke apart, and Doyle cracked a smile. "You're a lot stronger than I remember you being," he commented.

"Sorry. I sorta had to become part demon in order to withstand those nifty visions you gifted me with. Which, by the way…" She punched him in the shoulder lightly. "Been meaning to do that since I first figured it out. You know, you actually had me thinking for at least two years that you only kissed me to pass on the visions?"

He rubbed his shoulder. "Kissed you because I'd been wanting to from the moment I saw you. I didn't mean to curse you with those headaches. Sorry about that."

Cordelia wanted to tell him that it was alright, that, in the long run, she was glad she'd had the visions. But, seeing as how she'd just died, and, if she'd never gotten the visions, she'd probably not be dead, she wasn't entirely comfortable saying that yet. So she waved it away and said, "As long as you didn't do it on purpose, I can forgive you. Anyway, so what's up with this place? Is Heaven really this boring?"

"Oh, this isn't Heaven. Heaven's all about the floating warm comfort and such. This is a construct. Once you get the hang of it, it'll form to your desires." Off of her questioning look, he continued. "It's a place they put people when they can't let them move on just yet."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Purgatory?" she asked again.

"No, no, nothing like that. Purgatory's for the people they're uncertain about. People who were sort of in the middle. Not good enough for Heaven, not bad enough for Hell, you know what I mean? But you, oh, they love you. Love you so much, they seem to think you're not quite done back on the earthly plane," Doyle explained.

Cordelia started pacing. "Okay, so they killed me…and then they decided they're not ready for me to be dead?" She hated the Powers. True, they were better than the bad guys, but not by much. "So they just put me through the horrible pain of saying goodbye to everyone I love…" She glanced at him, then amended, "Everyone I love who's still alive, anyway…for what? A good laugh? Some sick mind game?"

Doyle leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Never said they weren't a finicky lot.

She shrugged. "Well, at least you're not feeding me that line about them having a plan or working in mysterious ways or any of that crap."

"Oh, they've got a plan alright. Many plans on large scales. But all things that happen outside of their plans? Then they're just flying by the seat of their pants like the rest of us," Doyle told her.

"Good to know," she replied as she plopped down in the red chair that had materialized for her. Off his look, she added, "I was in a coma for months, Doyle. I'm plenty used to constructs by now." To illustrate her point, she leaned back and put her feet up. There was a footrest under them by the time she needed it there.

"Cute," he said with a grin.

"I thought so," she agreed. "So the question is, what's next?"

"Well, they're in talks right now about what to do. They're going to send you back, no question about that, just not sure if they want to do it now or later. Much, much later."

"Why? What's the deal?"

"They haven't told me exactly. I just know…" he trailed off. Another chair to match Cordelia's appeared and he sat in it before meeting her eyes. His look was troubled.

"What?" she asked, sitting up. "What is it?"

"Bad things are coming, princess. Horrible things are coming to people you love. I don't have specifics, but that's why they want to send you back now."

If Doyle hadn't gotten her full attention with his mere presence, he certainly had it now. "If I go back, I can help?"

"We don't know. Maybe."

"Then why won't they send me back?" Cordelia was up and pacing now. "If I can help, and they're sending me back anyway, then what am I still doing here? And who is it, Doyle? Angel? Wes? Fred?" She suddenly realized she'd been speaking only in questions for several minutes now. But there was just so much she needed to know, and even more that she'd rather not focus on. But all the doom and gloom talk was causing it to sneak up on her, despite her best intentions.

"Everyone," he replied quietly. "It's murky right now, but things will be terrible for all of them, whether they live or die."

"So why wouldn't they send me back now?"

"I'm not sure. Something to do with Angel, but they wouldn't tell me what."

Cordelia stopped pacing and sat down. "This sucks. I feel so helpless. So…so dead." She paused as she let her own words sink into her brain. "I'm dead. I'm twenty-three years old and one of those years was spent as a prisoner in my own head." She felt the tears building behind her eyes and tried to will them back, but Doyle's hand on her knee, rubbing in comforting circles, broke her. She leaned forward and hugged him, sliding off her chair to her knees, where he met her in the middle. "It wasn't enough time, Doyle! I gave up everything for them! Why are they doing this to me?"

Doyle wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. Turning his head to talk softly into her ear, he told her, "They don't mean to hurt you, Cordelia. They don't mean to hurt any of us. But they don't know how not to. They don't understand human emotion. It's the factor of the universe that they can never predict or control. They don't understand that you'd rather be down there fighting than in paradise. They see this as your reward for all the good you've done."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, slowly drawing away from him. "Then I want to talk to them. If they don't understand, then I want a chance to explain."

He cocked his head, as if listening to something she couldn't hear. She smiled. Doyle always had to be one up on her. First, she was without any powers, and he got pictures in his head that she could never see or imagine, until she got the visions…and then he heard a voice that she couldn't. She didn't begrudge him his newfound connection to the powers. The visions were more than enough for her.

After a few moments, Doyle nodded. "They'll give us an audience tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so, for the record, I despise the fourth season of Angel. I've only watched it once, and it was several years ago, and now I'm watching it again for the first time and I'm not too thrilled with it. So if I get a few facts wrong...that's why and I apologize. Anyway, if you spot anything that's a glaring error, I'd love to hear about it so I can correct it. Other than that, enjoy!

Negotiations

Chapter Three

Cordelia's outfits were changing with the speed of her thoughts, and it was beginning to make Doyle dizzy. But every time she thought of a better outfit, the one she'd been wearing rematerialized into what she saw in her head. He'd have been much happier if she was actually taking her clothes off to change, but he wasn't about to say that to her and earn a slap in the face, which he would have deserved, more or less.

"Cordy..." he started.

"Don't even," she replied quickly. "I'm meeting the Powers That Be, the beings that have been controlling my life for the last five years, in like ten minutes, and I still can't figure out what the hell I'm gonna wear!" Once again, her outfit changed from an olive green top and gray pants to a simple black dress that ended somewhere below her knees.

"I hate to tell you, princess, but they were around since before time began, which means they've seen everything. Togas, chain mail, afros...I don't think that anything you could wear today would sway their opinions much in either direction. After all, they already love you. You could go in there naked and that wouldn't change. Plus, it'd be a nice treat for the rest of us..."

A strappy sandal sailed through the air and collided with his head. "Not helping, Doyle!"

He rubbed his head where the heel had hit him and watched as a ball gown materialized around Cordelia's frame. Finally, he sighed and went to her. He stilled her pacing by placing his hand on her arm, and made sure she met his eyes before he started speaking. "Okay, this is the best advice I can give: they know you as a champion of the people, and the best you can do is play to that image. So I'd recommend something you can fight in. Something classy, if it makes you less nervous, but definitely something that allows you to move."

Cordy took a deep breath and let it out. A black form-fitting top and loose slacks appeared, and she looked at him for his approval, despite the tiny voice in her brain screaming that any man dressed like _that_ should not be giving her fashion advice. But Doyle's nod still calmed her churning stomach, and the seemingly endless parade of clothes across her body finally ceased.

"Thanks," she said, still staring into his eyes. Now that the churning had stopped, she'd started to feel that _other_ thing again, that indescribable feeling in the pit of her stomach, and his gaze wasn't helping. She almost felt guilty; after all, it hadn't been too long since she'd been kissing Angel, and she still loved him so much. But she couldn't help what she might feel for Doyle. She'd never gotten any closure on the situation, and her feelings for him had only faded because, for one, they'd never had a chance to really grow, and, of course, he'd been dead. But now with him here...

"We should go," Doyle said abruptly, breaking the eye contact reluctantly. "Don't wanna be late."

"Right. How do we get there?"

"Just close your eyes," he told her. She followed his instruction and suddenly felt a slight breeze. It faded after about ten seconds, and then his voice came again. "Now open them."

They were standing outside of a blue door that was at least three times their height. Walls of a lighter blue spread out in either direction for as far as Cordelia could see.

"So I just walk in there...and plead my case?" she asked him.

Doyle shrugged. "Never done it before. But I imagine that'd be what should happen." He squeezed her hand. "Are you ready?"

"Not even remotely," she replied, before pushing the door open.

It looked like she imagined courtrooms might have looked during the Inquisition or the Witch Hunts, except with a much lighter atmosphere. Everything was white or baby blue. There didn't appear to be anywhere for her to sit, but there was a large circle in the middle of the room for her to stand, surrounded by empty benches for anyone who needed to watch. In the front of the room, three podiums rose up to to several feet above her head. Behind each podium was a figure.

On the left was a woman of such beauty that Cordelia actually felt envious. Doyle had described her, and said she went by Liandra. She had dark red hair that fell in waves behind her. The podium blocked the view of how long it was, but Cordy had the feeling that the woman had had plenty of time to grow it out. Blazing green eyes gazed at her from a perfect face with high cheekbones and flawless skin. Cordelia felt insecure enough to cast a glance in Doyle's direction, but, true to form, his eyes were only on her, and he had a small encouraging smile on his face. He took his seat in the front row of the benches.

In the middle was a guy who fit her imagination as what Zeus would have looked like. Zirconius, according to Doyle, but she was sticking with Zeus in her head. Muscular, lined face, white hair and beard, complete with toga. For all she knew, maybe he _was_ Zeus. She didn't see any lightning bolts around, but he looked more than capable of shooting them out of his eyes, if necessary. However, in this case, his face was as inscrutable as the woman's.

On the right, there was possibly the most average looking man she'd ever seen. Doyle said he went by Bob, which really didn't help. He had brown hair and eyes, looked to be about forty years old and slightly overweight. He wore a suit with not a single wrinkle that she could see, and the expression he was giving her was not exactly the most approving. She knew she should have stuck with the ball gown.

"Miss Chase," Zeus greeted her formally as she walked into the circle. "I assume Mr. Doyle has briefed you on our dilemma."

"He's told me as much as he can," she answered, making sure her voice carried enough to reach them. "He told me why you want to send me back, but I'm still in the dark as to why you'd like to wait." She looked back at Doyle again, then looked back to Zeus and added, "Sir."

"You are a danger to the mission," Bob said. "Your actions on the earthly plane could cause reactions so catastrophic that it would throw all of our plans into disarray."

"Calm down," Liandra told him harshly. "The least you could do is explain it to her before you start the lecture." She once again turned her brilliant stare onto Cordelia. "The Slayer is no longer a danger to the champion's soul. She belongs to our white-haired warrior now, and that will work itself out in time. If he were to share a night in her bed, no dire consequences would come. However, you...you are his new danger. His new perfect happiness."

"And you love him," Zeus added. "We realize what a temptation it must be for you to be with him, if you are back in his presence. The world still needs you, but perhaps we can send you back after Angel is dust, and you can do your good then."

She didn't have time to be shocked. Cordy knew this. She couldn't argue her case with her jaw hanging open. So she pushed it to the back of her mind and soldiered on, trying to keep to their overly formal speech patterns. "I do love Angel," she admitted freely. She didn't look at Doyle now. She didn't want to see his reaction. It wasn't a betrayal – she knew that much – but it still felt like it. "But the love I have for him is unselfish. I love him enough to ensure that he never has to face a new pile of the crimes of Angelus. His burden is more than heavy enough as it is."

"How can we trust her?" Bob asked forcefully, leaning over his podium to direct the words at Zeus. "She is still mostly human, and love is the most dangerous of human emotions. She says now that she will not endanger the champion's soul, but there is no guarantee that she will keep her word, that her love will not grow and change into something more..." He glanced at her before borrowing her term, "Selfish."

Cordelia hated that guy, and, considering all that had happened to her, he snapped her very short temper. Even while the rational part of her mind yelled at her to not piss off the Powers, her mouth started to rant, and the formal language was gone along with most of her composure. "How can _you_ trust _me? _ How about we examine how much I trusted you over these past years? I went from being a normal girl to being _afflicted_ with pictures in my head that literally nearly killed me. They rotted my brain until I was thrown into a _coma,_ and told I had to become part-demon to bear them. I trusted you there, even though I was terrified about what would happen to me. For all I knew, I could have gotten horns, a tail, and _scales_ when I signed on to continue helping Angel, but I did it without asking any questions because I knew it was the right thing to do and I trusted you. And then that same guide came to me and told me I was becoming a higher being. He told me I had to leave everything I knew and everyone I loved behind so I could continue doing good on a higher plane. And I _trusted _you and do you know what happened?"

"She wasn't our..." Liandra started.

"Fault?" Cordelia finished. "She was one of you once, wasn't she? What she did to me...saying I was violated wouldn't cover it. She _desecrated _me and made me a passenger in my own body, forced to watch as she made me have sex with the closest thing I'll ever have to a child, the son of the guy I was actually in love with. She killed people and ended up putting me into _another_ coma. And none of it would have happened if I hadn't trusted you so much, if I had thought to ask good old Skip a few more questions before allowing him to whisk me away to a higher plane. So instead of asking how you can trust me, maybe you should be asking why _should _I trust you?"

Bob was clearly outraged. "Your insolence is..."

"Understandable," Liandra cut him off, earning a glare. "And therefore forgivable. But unfortunately, his point remains valid. We know you are a good person, and we respect you as one of our favorites among your race. But love _is _unpredictable."

"There is no way to tell that you will never want something more from your relationship with the vampire," Zeus continued. "So until his soul is anchored, sending you back remains a risk we are not sure if we are able to take." He leaned forward to look at her. "If his demonic counterpart is released again, the results will be apocalyptic. You know of the prophecy surrounding him. If his soul is lost again, it will never be found. His first action will be to kill the witch, and she is the last remaining human who can restore his soul."

"Look, I'm not a danger to his soul. If the time were to come when I felt I would die without having sex with him, I'd find a way to help him anchor his soul first. After all, Spike got a soul, right? I doubt he was cursed with it, so I'm sure he knows how to get it anchored," she rationalized.

Zeus nodded. "Very well. We will discuss this and come to a decision. If you and Mr. Doyle would like to wait outside and grant us our privacy, we would appreciate it."

Cordelia met each of their eyes before leaving, trying to read what their decision might be and prepare herself for it, but they were all unreadable. And she really didn't like that Bob guy. She turned and followed Doyle out of the room to wait.

The second she stepped into the endless hallway, the vision hit her. It hurt more than any she'd had before, but not physically. Still, she was screaming by the time it came to an end and she found herself being supported by Doyle.

"I thought those weren't supposed to hurt anymore," he said softly, guilt written all over his face.

"They don't," Cordelia said, righting herself. "That was all pure terror and emotional distress." Then she strode back into the courtroom, intent on wreaking some havoc.

She didn't wait until she was back in the circle before she started talking. "So that's why you sent me back before letting me die? You wanted me to say goodbye to everyone so that if they died, I wouldn't have missed the opportunity?"

"Miss Chase..." Zeus started.

"No! You can turn me into a frog or something if my _insolence_ pisses you off, but you will _not_ shut me up! Why do you even send me the visions if you think I won't be able to help avert the disasters? Because if you send me the vision of Fred being taken over by some creature, _like I was,_ and then refuse to send me back, then you're needlessly cruel, and then what separates you from the other side?"

"Miss Chase," Zeus said again, pausing to see if he'd be interrupted, and then continuing. "We don't send you the visions. Perhaps, at a point when time is not of the essence, we might introduce you to the source, but as it stands, we must make the decision quickly."

Cordelia glanced back to see if Doyle had followed her into the room. He hadn't. Thinking quickly, she said, "Send Doyle back with me. If you don't think you can trust me, then send him too. He'll keep me in line if all else fails."

Liandra let a smile grace her face. "You have feelings for him." It wasn't a question.

She turned to face her. "What, you're psychic too?"

"No." That smile again. "You are simply very easy to read. It is a good idea. We've been watching the half-breed for years, and we know his heart. I vote yes," she said, looking at Zeus.

"No," Bob said, his distaste for the situation clear on his face. "It is not our way to send humans back at every potential crisis."

Three pairs of eyes settled on Zirconius, waiting on his vote to break the tie. He sighed, looking back and forth between Liandra and Bob, finally saying, "Very well. Mr. Doyle!" he called, barely raising his voice. However, Doyle heard and was at Cordy's side quickly. "You are both being sent back. Please consider it your absolute duty to ensure that Miss Chase does not falter and risk our champion's soul. You are both being granted a second chance. I ask simply that you do not make us regret it."

And then, with a wave of his hand, everything faded to white. Cordelia reached out for Doyle and felt his hand grasp hers, and then they found themselves in the lobby of Wolfram and Hart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Author's Note:** I'm getting these chapters out as fast as possible, I promise! Anyway, there were a suprising number of reviews last chapter...and it was awesome. Keep 'em coming, mates! They truly are inspirational. And on to the story! I hope you enjoy.

Negotiations

Chapter Four

Cordelia's moment of disorientation was interrupted by a blond blur hitting her with full vampire speed. Its arms wrapped around her in a bone-crushing hug.

"Oh my god, Cordy, they totally told me you were dead! I had to go to your funeral and everything. I was like _so_ sad!"

"Harmony!" she said sharply, prying the vampire's arms off of her. "Where's Fred?"

"Probably in her lab or drooling over Wes. You know they..."

"_Where, _Harmony?"

"Oh, sixth floor. She's got the whole thing for her scientific stuff."

Cordelia was off like a shot, Doyle not far behind her. She poked the call button on the elevator several times, and of course, Harmony had to comment, "You know, I heard pushing it a bunch of times doesn't make it go faster, but I sorta always thought..."

She dashed up the stairs, feeling each second as it ticked by. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was running out of time, and she couldn't seem to move fast enough. About halfway to the sixth floor, she kicked off her heels so she could run faster, leaving them in the stairwell for someone else to find. She wasn't sure where Doyle had disappeared to, and she hated to be away from him now that she finally got him back, but she couldn't wait. Her friend's life was hanging in the balance, and Doyle would be able to take care of himself. She noted that Harmony hadn't followed her, and decided that Doyle had probably stayed with her to keep the vampire from following. Or, more importantly, annoying. She was grateful.

Cordelia reached the sixth floor and pushed through every door she could find. In her head, she'd always had something she pictured as a blinking red light that said 'urgent' right below it. That light was going insane, blinking so fast that it seemed simply lit up entirely.

Finally, she went through the right door.

Just in time to see the hole in the sarcophagus open up and Fred breathe in.

By the time Cordelia had tackled the scientist to the floor, she knew she was too late. She scrambled off of her and slumped against the side of a table, still next to Fred on the floor. Fred started coughing up a fit and she started wracking her brain for some sort of mystical Heimlich maneuver, but nothing came to her. Unless they could figure out some way to help her, Fred would be devoured from the inside.

When Fred's coughs ceased, she looked at Cordelia like she had never seen something so miraculous. Cordy had to admit, even in their line of work, a human coming back from the dead was rare. Much less two part demons.

Just as she thought of Doyle again, the door cracked open and he walked in. Seeing her on the floor, he immediately rushed to her side. He crouched down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Did you..."

"Too late," she cut him off. "By like a second and a half. Doyle, this is Fred. Fred, Doyle."

Doyle offered his hand, but Fred was still staring at Cordy. The first thing she could bring herself to say was, "I...I went to your funeral."

_And soon, I'll be going to yours,_ she thought before she banished the idea from her brain. So she had failed to save Fred this way. There were other ways. There had to be. "Yeah, well, Doyle and I got a second chance. Apparently the good guys need help so bad that we were recruited from beyond the grave."

Once Doyle's presence had sunk into Fred's mind, she grasped his hand and shook it. "Doyle...Angel and Cordy told me about you. Never really thought I'd get the chance to meet you, what with you being dead and all." She released his hand and got up, brushing herself off. Cordy and Doyle joined her.

"We should get to Angel," he said quietly. "It's not gonna cure itself, if you know what I mean."

Cordelia simply nodded and started walking toward the door, but Fred didn't move. "I don't. Know what you mean, that is. What's going on?"

"That dust you just breathed in?" Cordelia said, preferring to stare at the floor, instead of seeing Fred's face when she spilled the beans. "It's poisonous. It's going to hollow you out so some ancient demon can take your body."

"That sounds a whole lot like..." Fred trailed off.

"What happened to me," she said, closing her eyes. "But it hasn't won yet. Come on, let's get to Angel."

* * *

"Okay, who in the hell is the tramp?" Cordelia asked, pointing at the blond woman she'd just seen making out with Angel. The blond had taken care to place the desk between herself and the clearly furious seer, but she didn't seem to realize that she wasn't entirely the target of Cordelia's rage. Angel was.

"Cordelia, this is Nina. Nina and I..."

"Nina and you _what, _Angel? How long have I been dead? A week?"

"Three weeks, two days, eleven hours, forty-two minutes..." Angel said quietly.

"Oh, well that's just fine then," she muttered, ignoring the thought that, if he knew her death down to the minute, it probably meant he really did care. "It's not like I was important enough for you to mourn for me even a little bit. Not like your precious little Buffy, who you were brooding over for _years_ before she even died."

"You don't understand, Cordy, it's..." He turned to Doyle. His mind was still fully boggled over the return of the other original members of Angel Investigations, not to mention being caught in a compromising position by the woman he definitely still loved. "Doyle, can you help me out here?"

Doyle shrugged. "I'm with the lass. You know, probably better than I do now, how incredible she is. Least you could do is give her a month to remember her."

"Exactly!" Cordelia said, gesturing to Doyle. "I gave up _everything_ to help you and, sure, never asked for much in return, but I thought it would be implicit or something that I'd want to be remembered." She sighed and looked out the window, swallowing to prevent herself from crying. "At least by you."

"Hey, guys?" Fred asked, waving her hand a little to get their attention. "Not that I don't think this is real important and everything – and by the way, Cordy's right – but I think I've got a more pressing issue."

Cordy took a deep breath and turned to Angel. "Get Wes. This is his area of expertise. Plus, from what I hear..." Her eyes flickered to Fred. "He should be here anyway."

Angel went about calling Wesley to the office while Nina excused herself. "It was, um, nice to meet..." she started to say, but the death glare she received from Cordy shut her up quickly, and she was gone with a quick wave to Angel. Wesley appeared a moment later and went straight to Fred's side. His eyes settled on Cordelia and he opened his mouth to start speaking, but Angel spoke before he could.

"Yes, Cordy and Doyle are back." He met Cordelia's eyes, but she looked away almost immediately. "And we are as happy as we can possibly be without losing our souls over their return. Except apparently, something's wrong with Fred. Cordelia?"

"Yeah." She spoke directly to Wesley, certain that he would know better than anyone about these things. "There was a sarcophagus. She touched it and then breathed in something out of it. You can't tell yet, but it's highly toxic and it will grab ahold of her like a parasite and turn her into a vessel for some ancient demon that's been dead for a zillion years. You want to be researching Illyria."

"Will it hurt?" Fred asked, almost too quietly to hear.

Cordelia's eyes instantly filled with tears. She had been too late. If anything happened to Fred, she would blame herself forever. She wanted more than anything to lie to her friend. But that wouldn't help the situation either, even if it would alleviate some of her fear. After a moment, she nodded. "Excruciating."

Wesley's arms had tightened around Fred the instant he realized she was in danger, but there was one thing he had to be sure of before he could begin his research. "I'm sorry, and no offense intended to the recently and not-so-recently departed among us, but...has anyone touched them? We are sure they're not the First that we heard about from Sunnydale?"

"I've touched them both," Fred volunteered. She was trying to sound positive, but her voice was shaking badly. "So, research?"

"Yes, I'll be back shortly with my..."

Everyone in the room could do nothing but stare in horror as Fred coughed up blood onto Wesley's face. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed. Wes caught her...barely. He wondered at how quick his reflexes were, despite having the blood of the love of his life all over him.

"We need to get her to medical," he said, looking around the room at the stunned faces of his colleages.

"I'll take her," Spike said from the doorway. He had entered without anyone noticing, and heard most of their conversation. "Welcome back, cheerleader, Doyle," he said, with a nod to each of them. A detached part of his brain knew he'd have to come up with a nickname for the Irish demon. Otherwise everyone would suddenly want to be called by their proper names. "You go get your books, Percy, and I'll meet you back here as soon as I have something from the docs."

Wesley hesitated, then gently placed Fred into Spike's arms. Spike was off like a shot, up the stairs before they could really process him being gone. The ex-Watcher departed a moment later for his own office.

"Since when is that bleached menace on our side?" Doyle asked.

"Since he fell in love with my ex," Angel answered, clearly displeased by the idea.

_She belongs to our white-haired warrior now..._ The words of her new favorite power echoed in Cordelia's head, and she almost smiled. It appeared she was done being jealous over Buffy, as far as her relationship with Angel went. Of course, that thought brought back images of him and The Tramp, and that wasn't something she needed.

"Get everybody else in on this, Angel. I'm gonna..." She looked around the room, desperate for an excuse to be out of his presence. Her eyes settled on her bare feet. "I'm gonna go get my shoes."

She wandered out of the room, lost in her own thoughts, leaving Angel and Doyle alone.

"Good to have you back," Angel said. "You're not mad about..." He looked to the door.

"You and Cordy?" Doyle asked. "No. I was dead, and who could blame a guy for falling in love with a woman like her? But this new thing? I understand why she's hurting. That was mighty quick to be moving on."

"That wasn't moving on," he replied. "It was solace."

"Doesn't matter in the long run, man. I'll explain later, but Cordy's officially off-limits for you. Until then...I should find her." He offered Angel his hand to shake, but Angel was having none of that. He pulled Doyle into a tight hug.

"I missed you," he said. "Now go find her."

Doyle went, and he found her in the stairwell, sitting next to her discarded heels. He was not surprised to find her crying. He sat on the stair next to her and awkwardly wrapped an arm around her shaking frame.

"This about Fred or Angel, Princess?" he asked. He had to know which one to comfort her over, and they were both likely to have a starring role in her mind at the moment.

"It's all of it! Fredis gonna die, I'm almost sure. And god, how could Angel move on so quickly? It's not a lot to ask, is it, Doyle? To be remembered by the person you gave up _everything_ for?" Cordelia searched his eyes to see if he thought she was being selfish, but she found no judgment there.

"No, it's not. Anyway, if it makes you feel better, you're the better person. Because I gave up everything for you, and you remembered me just fine. I was honored that you kept me in your thoughts all this time."

"Of course I did!" she whispered, turning so she could throw her arms around him for a minute before pulling away again. "But he has to really love me, right? Otherwise the Powers wouldn't be so worried about him losing his soul with me." It occurred to her how selfish she was being. She knew Doyle had the full-on warm and fuzzies for her, and he deserved better than to be her shoulder to cry on about Angel. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't make you listen to all this."

"Hey, don't worry about it, okay? You want me to tell you I'm not jealous? Can't say that, because I am. Can't pretend I don't have feelings for you because you know better. But that doesn't mean I can't be a good friend to you, no matter what you choose." He paused to take a deep breath, then soldiered on. Hell, he had been a martyr once; he was sure he could do it again. "And no matter who. Truly caring about someone means being happy if they're happy, even if they aren't with you."

She met his eyes again. "Listen, Doyle, I'm sick of being part of some stupid supernatural soap opera. So much of everything that's gone wrong in the past few years could have been avoided if we just didn't keep secrets, so I'm gonna lay it out for you because dancing around this kind of thing has never gotten me very far. I _am_ in love with Angel. But I have feelings for you too. And I don't know what they are or what they mean, but they've been there, laying dormant or whatever, since before you died. But you _have_ to know, part of me will _always_ be in love with Angel." She sighed. "And part of me will always be making out in broom closets with Xander Harris. And part of me will always be teasing you about whatever comes to mind. Point is, I don't think we ever entirely get over the people we've..." She hesitated, not wanting to say the word that was coming to her mind because she didn't know how accurate it was. She definitely loved Angel, but had she loved Xander? Did she love Doyle? So instead, she settled on, "...been close to. And maybe I want to explore this, but it will be a while coming. Because unlike Angel, I need time to mourn."

Doyle placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. "I understand, Princess, and I can wait. But we should get back, yeah?"

She nodded and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She quickly put her shoes back on and then they made their way back to Angel's office.


End file.
